Devil's Paradox
by YourStupidGrin
Summary: Perhaps the best part of a mystery is never discovering the answer.
1. Chapter 1

I Luv Halloween has to be one of my favorite comics ever~ So I tried incredibly hard to not butcher the original series. But, when writing your own fanfiction, you either do really well, or your get flamed. So, if it sucks, I'm incredibly sorry!

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><p>Calling it a hectic time of the year would be an understatement.<p>

Seriously.

As soon as the sun dipped beneath the horizon of rooftops, children exploded from the doors of their houses. Dressed up in daunting black or a flashy array of colors they raced towards the streets, pillow cushions and plastic jack-o-lantern containers in hand streaming behind them.

Now the riots were about to begin.

The children seemed to all unconsciously split into groups of five, moving amongst each other and wordlessly choose their partners through the noisy chattering. When everything seemed to be cleared up, they made beelines towards the doorsteps.

Within moments the peaceful autumn sunset was filled with screaming of children and ringing doorbells that seemed to echo off every surface. No more was the crisp breeze rattling orange leafs the only sound, it was impossible to even hear now.

Nothing has changed about this holiday. Since this sacred day of the dead had been caught in the clutches of commercial marketers everything that had been once holy to tradition has long since been sucked dry.

Once celebrated with ancient rites, rituals and the likes, is now rejoiced with gigantic inflatable orange pumpkins, crushed witches with striped stockings to hang upon your door, and hordes of mangy children lusting for the promise of candy.

Well, the candy was the only good part in all of this.

Every child knows Halloween runs on one thing, the supply of sugary treats and chocolate bars that kids crave every other day of the year and can now get all the can carry in one night. To every single child that has grown up under the illusion of Halloween that the media had created, getting more than your weight in candy was an ultimate once.

Each year, the candy has been supplied in greater quantities than before. With more variety, alluring packaging, all the works. As long as kids kept on demanding the almighty candy, parents and neighbours would make sure to keep it in stock, lest they want their houses and lawns covered with toilet paper and sticky with eggs.

Unknown to the public, the suppliers kept marking the prices higher and higher each year. For these big shot companies and producers know that adults will keep buying their products to keep the children content.

Needless to say, Halloween became the second biggest foolproof marketing ploy next to Christmas.

There was just no spirit in the holiday anymore.

To make matters worse, the only ones who manage to keep the spirit alive in vigil are turning their backs on their rights. Children, no matter what age or where they're from, are supposed to carry on the tradition that Halloween is meant for one thing, and one thing only.

The candy.

That's what Halloween's been about for centuries. It's a night where children get all the free candy they can manage to drag back to their own houses, the sweetness that gives you a hyperactive rush every time you bite into it.

But the kids have betrayed themselves.

They let themselves be fooled by the marketers, the media, their parents and friends, into believing that these fucking soy bars and apples are considered 'fun Halloween treats.'

Complete. Utter. Bullshit.

This health food trend is completely ridiculous. When and how it started is unknown, but the one thing that is for certain is that it's not going to stop any time soon.

As more adults begin to worry about what their feeding their families, and get to be more cautious about their health, they will shove their preachy beliefs down their children's throats until they suffocate. Of course adults wouldn't understand that kids need sugar as a necessity to live.

"I'm eighteen now and I still don't fucking get them."

"Get who?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

Taking a long, deep drag from the cigarette, Finch exhaled the cloud of smoke and flicked the excess ash off the tip. Then he gave a sideways glance to the boy sitting beside him, who sighed and continued to stare down at the town below in undisguised boredom.

"If you sigh one more goddamn time I'll pull your intestines out with a corkscrew."

Brown eyes looked at him accusingly. "Get off it. You've been saying that for years now."

"And I always keep my word, don't I?"

When he got no reply, he smirked in victory and tossed the cigarette bud to the ground, promptly squishing it into the cold ground with his sneaker clad foot.

They had been like this for at least an hour now, Pigpig and him. Seated on a park bench perched on the top of a hill, looking down at the town they have lived in for their whole lives and more.

The two had met a few hours before sunset, wandering around their bustling neighbourhood without much to say. In the end, they had finally ended up at the park, because it was the only place Finch was allowed to smoke without accusing, pointed looks.

Fuck them all.

In truth, he and Pigpig didn't even want to meet up tonight. The kosher boy had found an ultimate interest and love for the Xbox, and had spent entire days without a pause for rest. Finch himself had found other things to do that were worth his time.

But it was tradition.

Which Spencer was fucking breaking.

'' took it upon himself to utterly tear apart the pack they had made since they were three, venturing off to probably crash every house party in town as long as there was free booze involved. That, and scantily dressed girls who used Halloween to show their true colors.

Then, he was dragged out of his musings by Pigpig, who happened to bring it upon himself to make an inhumane whining noise.

Finch didn't even want to bother.

Giving him a pointed look, the younger man sighed in exasperation. Since they had first sat here, he had been fidgeting with a loose thread on his unsightly green sweater. Now, as Finch noticed, half of his right sleeve was missing.

"Finch, seriously. What the hell are we doing out here?"

Blowing a cloud of air, Finch unearthed a hand from his jacket pocket and waved it over the sight of the town, as if that explained everything.

Though it seemed that Pigpig was not amused by his vague answer. Although his irritated expression didn't look the slightest bit threatening with his slight baby face and his sweater missing have a sleeve. Finch couldn't help but smirk.

It was a well known fact that Finch was the most threatening out of their little group, and anyone who tried to take the position was withering on the ground with a lighter aflame at their liver. Needless to say he has been king of the hill for years.

The younger of the two appeared to be ready to sigh in annoyance at the situation, but after noticing Finch's watchful gaze, his mouth promptly closed into a thin, nervous line.

"We've been here for hours; nothing has changed besides the number of stampeding two year olds. C'mon let's get into town and get something to eat."

What amused Finch was that Pigpig was forcing himself to stay within his presence. The whole day he had noticed him suffering through gamer withdrawals. His hands would occasionally twitch as if to grasp the controller or he would reach up to his ear like he was about to adjust his headset.

Pigpig was smart enough to know that today was Halloween, and tonight he was spending it with Finch until Finch dismissed him. Just like it had been for years on end.

Taking his offer into consideration, he pondered the choice of leaving the cold park bench for a heated building with warm food. His intentions for tonight were to stay out in the open, where no walls confined him. But, the temperature was dropping, and he knew that if Pigpig didn't get fed he would whine and bitch all night.

Decisions, decisions.

Shifting his seating position, he gazed down at the autumn scenery one last time before reluctantly nodding in agreement.

"Fine. But you're buying."

"Again!"

Regarding the outburst with only a taunting smirk, Finch pushed himself off the bench, taking pleasure in the ripping sound that was his frosted jeans tearing away from the wood. Pigpig was already at his feet and making his way down the hill, Finch could hear his annoyed cursing from where he was.

Leaving the park seemed almost degrading to him. For now it was quiet, only the crackling of the leaves broke the silence, and the cries of children were far off in the distance. But this year, it seemed winter was arriving months ahead of schedule.

Never before had the temperature dropped this low on Halloween. This morning the town was greeted to the sight of crystal formations on their windows and their jack-o-lanterns shrunk due to frost. By noon, lawns were crisp and leaves were pelting the ground like stones.

Bullshit on Global Warming.

Even now as he made his way down the slippery hill, he spotted the frost coating his windshield on the piece of shit car that he owned. Once Finch arrived at the bottom, he just glared at the car. He hated winter with a serious, deadly passion. The season was just too cold for it to be humanely bearable.

Pigpig was just standing outside the car glumly, looking inside at the cab longingly. It was as if the frozen vehicle would be degrees warmer than outside.

"C'mon," Finch muttered, jamming the key into the car door and locking the cab. "Find something we can scrape this frost off with."

After ten minutes of fruitless searching the spotless cab interior, the pair came up with an unused fork from an old fast food bag and Finch's lighter. Five minutes into removing the frost, Finch snatched the fork away from Pigpig, who seemed to be incapable of using it after he snapped it into two, and handed him the lighter.

The next long moments seemed to go without incident, until Pigpig got the bright idea to burn the frost off with the newly acquired lighter. This resulted in a smoky, black smudge on the top left corner of Finch's windshield, and the bottom half of a plastic fork impaled through Pigpig's right hand.

To complete the daunting task of removing the frost, it took the two 'friends' forty five minutes.

Soon, they were seated in the warming cab with the heater turned full blast as they cruised down the back highway. Pigpig was yanking out the sharp piece of plastic, and Finch gave him an old napkin from the fast food bag to nurse his bleeding wound.

Same as every year.

"If it's not freaking apples with razorblades, it's Chinese food and forks..."

"Oh relax; I could have aim for your face instead."

"Thanks… I think."

Starring intently at the road, Finch flicked on his low beams as he turned onto one of the main streets. The change of asphalt from gravel always made him feel odd, since it basically was an alert that the driver had to smarten up now.

Halloween was the worst time to drive, ever. Children were darting across the streets to houses adjacent from theirs, some decided it would be just plain merry if they journeyed down the center of the road.

Because it was Halloween, who would seriously give a fuck?

"So…. Where we goin'?"

"As long as I get to run over the next kid who runs across the road, you can pick."

Pigpig looked at him like he was expecting him to be joking, but when he noticed the mass population of kids frolicking around everywhere, he knew that Finch was dead serious. Motioning with his uninjured hand, he pointed out a back alley that was clear from any human traffic.

Finch gladly did the illegal left turn to get there.

When they exited the alley road, they nosed out onto one of the town's main streets and followed it until Finch decided that any restaurant would do, and sharply pulled into its parking lot. Once the car was shifted into park, they just stared out the windshield with lacking enthusiasm.

Both of them appeared to notice how unappealing food would be at this moment. For they took this journey to have something to do, and if they were to eat anything, it would be out of sheer boredom.

"You still wanna go in?"

Finch yanked the keys out of the ignition; Pigpig took that motion as an answer and slid out of the passenger side. Following suite, Finch locked the car and wandered in after him. From what he could see, the littler diner either was based on a vintage theme, or was vintage and managed to survive other marketers.

Sitting opposite to Pigpig in the plastic turquoise booth, he gazed around interestedly at the interior of the building. It looked oddly familiar, with its jack-o-lantern garlands streamed across the windows and shiny confetti bats hanging from the ceiling.

Across from him, Pigpig slammed his face in his hands. "Dude, this has to be the most boring Halloween ever."

"I can't argue with that."

As the waitress came by, an elderly lady with hair five feet tall, they ordered a round of coffee and fell back into the silence they seemed to grow accustomed too.

It did seem like Halloween this year was going to a complete waste. Since they were now 'overage' for Halloween, there wasn't any candy to look forward too, and all the horror movies that get released around this time were complete knock offs of better films.

"So, I take it we ain't gonna actually eat anything, eh?"

"Most likely not. Do you find anything the least bit appetizing here?"

Shaking his head, his eyes suddenly lit up when the elderly woman came by with white porcelain mugs and placed them down on the table. As soon as the coffee was poured and the waitress wandered away, Pigpig began studying his brown drink curiously.

"Ya know... I never liked the taste of this. But it seems like I can't stop drinking it, you know?"

Nodding vacantly, Finch brought the mug to his lips and forced the bitter liquid down his throat. He never had the acquired taste for coffee; it always seemed to make him jittery, if that was even possible. Pigpig on the other hand, seemed to use it as an adrenaline substitute when he wasn't gaming.

The silence that fell over them stretched onward over the span of fifteen minutes. All the two seemed to do was either stare into their coffee mugs, or watch the passing groups of children ecstatically chattering about what they got at the last house.

"To Oswald." Finch said suddenly, lifting his mug up in a half ass mockery of a toast.

Pigpig just looked at him, completely confused as always. Finch just stared at him expectantly, because the slow witted one always got it eventually.

"Oh! That's the cop you killed, right?"

"Mhmm. Sure is."

"Huh..." Downing his mug, he placed it on the table and spun it around. "How many razors you stick in that thing?"

"About eight." The reply was spoken vaguely, like the two in the ugly booth were discussing the weather, or the results of a football game. "With no help from you."

It was his turn to shoot Finch the pointed look. "You almost chopped off my hand."

"With a quarter inch thick razor?" Finch didn't even try to disguise the mocking tone in his voice. Pigpig looked flustered, realizing how stupid that must have come across.

"Yeah, well, you know what I mean."

Five more minutes ticked by before Finch decided it was the end of Halloween, paying their bill for the coffee Pigpig tipped the waitress with a peppermint mint and left. Once back in the car, Finch began to navigate through the mass hordes of children, resisting the nagging blood lust to just speed overtop of them.

"You know Finch, I think it's about time you found yourself a hobby."

"Don't need one."

"Just to keep yourself occupied, you know? Something to keep your interest on."

"Are you deaf? I said I didn't need one."

Turning the wheel sharply to the left, he spun onto the main road and followed it through the heart of town. Here, the masses were not as thick since only convenience stores and apartments lined the streets. It was about time too, since Finch's patience almost snapped.

"Finch, seriously." There was a tinge of desperation in his voice that made Finch turn to look at him, even though he was supposed to keep his eyes on the road. "Every Halloween you get all… you get all antsy like! It's about time you just stop and-"

Slamming on the breaks, the car screeched to a halt directly before the intersection. Pigpig jerked forward in his seat, pushing on the dash to get himself upright again. All the while the car behind them began honking loudly, and Finch dully noticed it was still a green light.

"Don't you fucking say it."

Now Pigpig looked exasperated, flinging his arms out with blood trickling down his injured forearm. "Dude, we're literally almost adults now. Halloween isn't all fun and games anymore, we can't do the same shit we used to do..." Groaning in frustration, he slammed his face into his hands again.

"It's time to move on."

Finch gritted his teeth. "I told you to not fucking say it."

"Well, I did." It was obvious now that they weren't playing their roles anymore, and quite frankly, neither one of them cared. Over the years, Finch grew too tired of trying to force everyone in a submissive rank, and Pigpig just got sick of being in that submissive rank.

Hearing the car door click, Finch looked over to see Pigpig getting out. Once the door was closed, he stuck his head through the window. "Look, it's not that I don't like hanging out with you and shit, it's just we shouldn't have to take Halloween so seriously. We're not kids anymore." Seeing that Finch wasn't going to reply, he knocked the window frame and took a step back. "Well, see ya. Call me later if you wanna drink or something."

Finch just sighed. "Maybe in the morning, Alex."

Stepping on the gas, Finch resisted the urge to wince as the tires spun under the pressure of the acceleration. Once he was moving though, he drove through town and just kept going. Right now, his irritation level was dangerously high, and he didn't think that Moochie would be too pleased if the new pink leopard rug was stained red.

So for now, he would just drive until his frustration diminished. Each year he noticed it was getting to be a waste of effort trying to preserve the legacy that Halloween once held. For each year he found himself discovering that the spirit of Halloween was losing its meaning to him. And that's why it frustrated him, because he wanted to keep that spirit forever.

Seeing that he was well out of the town's population area, he pulled down a side road he knew well and then through an approach to a field and finally stopped in the middle. The crop was all frost burned, so there would be no harvest this year anyway.

Resting his head on the steering wheel, he tried to think why this once favourite holiday turned to complete shit as years went on. It wasn't the marketers, or the media advertising, not even the quality of the candy. The reason Halloween was losing its meaning was because he was getting older.

Now that he was older, there was no candy to look forward too. And since that was the only thing to look forward too on Halloween, when it was gone, there wasn't much left to celebrate on.

Irritated, he slammed his head against the wheel, ignoring that the horn was blasting continuously. It felt good to let his rage out on something finally. So for the next hour, he would stay like this, in the middle of a wheat field, with his head glued to the steering wheel.

Just like last year.

And the year before that.

God, how he hated Halloween.


	2. Chapter 2

To be awakened by the screeching of an owl was anything but pleasant.

Rotating it's massive wings, the owl plummeted downwards towards the frostbitten fields, rising up once again with a mouse firmly gripped within its deadly talons. Giving a triumphant cry at the catch of a meal, it flew off in oblivious contentment.

An emotion which the rest of the world below was far from reaching.

Peeling his head off the steering wheel, Finch groggily glared at the world outside of the cramp cab. It seemed, however, that whatever had emitted that God-forsaken noise was far out of his reach to beat on.

Watching the field silently as his consciousness slowly crept into the waking world, he inched himself cautiously off the steering wheel. Being in the position he was currently in, it was inevitable that something was going to be sore. And it so happened that physical pain was not something he could deal with easily.

Almost reaching the sitting position, he almost sighed in relief before a dull throbbing echoed in his lower back. Freezing the upward incline instantly, he lowered himself back onto the steering wheel with a scowl present on his face.

Figures that something, somewhere in his body would be strained, especially after the way he flew off the handle like that. Charging in a fit of rage, crashing his already piece of shit car in the middle of a field, and promptly passing out could not be any could for a person's body.

Let alone mental health, but Finch wasn't touching that topic with a twenty foot stick.

Ironically though, this seemed to happen at least every other week, or once a month. Little things that originally posed no threat to annoy him seemed to throw him into a downward spiral, one that he was falling down, fast.

Being the fucker that he was, claimed he was going through hormonal PMS. Which would've made complete sense, if it weren't for the fact that he was male. seemed to take it upon himself to bring the non-flattering topic up whenever they were together, even going as far as to mark Finch's fits on a calendar.

That asshole.

That being said, those moments didn't happen very often, since Spencer was never around anymore. Which, Finch supposed, he should be grateful for. But then again, cat boy wasn't usually around much in the first place.

It seemed that Spencer had been chasing after every single thread of interest that distracted him from his friends since his childhood. After all of these years, Finch is still convinced there was over half a ball of yarn left for that cat to chase after.

The first string had been easy to spot: Nips. Well, to be completely honest, that thread had been pursued by almost every male in town. Including Finch, but it was short lived. Once he found there was nothing to gain from just chasing, he moved on. Yet, this thread seemed to captivate .

If Finch could remember correctly, had followed that thread's lead until he actually managed to snag it in his claws.

Needless to say, he ripped it to shreds.

That, Finch recalled, was one of the worst cases of mutilation he had ever seen. The memory of it was something he tried not to think back to, for he could still clearly picture Nip's bloody, battered body oxidizing in the tub of bleach.

Spencer, that fucker, tried to cut her head off. Which led to nothing clever of the sorts, and resulted in blood slicked stairs and even a bigger mess to clean compared to if he hadn't touched the body post mortem.

Damn amateur.

When Finch had answered his horrified friend's call about the body, he truly didn't believe the mess would've been as bad as it was. But, as he had slipped on the blood glossed steps three times, he figured that things couldn't be worse.

Until he saw the bathroom.

Oh Lord, the smell.

That fucker forgot to mention that he had first soaked her corpse in table polisher –thinking it was bleach- first. The clashing chemicals had formed some sort of combustible chemical reaction, causing the whole bathroom, and soon house, to go up in flames.

They had made it out in the nick of time, and Finch proposed that all evidence had been destroyed, so they went home.

Feeling a familiar sting of his nose, he put a hand over it and noticed with a tinge of exasperation that it was bleeding. The stench of that bathroom had made him throw up twice, and succeeded in making a permanent mark in his brain.

Now, even the slightest recollection of that night where Kitty had taken Nips in more ways than one, his nose would bleed excessively.

Needless to say, he and had been on a very thin sheet of ice, suspended over a sea of rumbling lava, for more than five years now.

Getting the sense that whatever disturbance that was created in his back was gone, he straightened up and reached into the back seat. After a few moments of his hand fishing around through trash, he found a napkin and promptly shoved it to his nose.

If there was one thing he did not want to happen, it was blood getting anywhere on his car.

Even though it was completely battered, and ran on a prayer, he still had the decency to keep it clean enough to be presentable. Which was completely impossible when he had Spencer in the cab, because fast food wrappers and crumbs always followed.

Not that that mattered anymore really, because his car had been spotless for about three months now.

Ever since they had entered Junior high, the cat boy had found another new thread that caught his complete interest: Sports. Within the first two weeks, he was listed on the basketball team, and then led their shitty team to victory.

The Galloping Gophers.

Honestly, who the fuck named things in this town?

Since that lucky break, Kitty's rise to fame seemed nowhere near close to dropping him down the ladder of popularity. Through basketball teams, soccer teams, baseball teams… His abilities weren't even put to a challenge. And that seriously irritated Finch to no end, since to him, was truly incompetent.

Being proved wrong about his friend's abilities was just adding salt to an already fatal and bloody amputation, one that he had no desire to stitch up.

But then again, Kitty was no longer around to meddle in Finch's serious affairs. No more did he have to worry about the spontaneous blonde creeping up behind him and promptly tackling him into a huddled heap to the ground; something the jocks loved to do to their 'bros'. Frankly, Finch didn't need that kind of 'affection'.

It was odd, however, how much everyone had changed over the years. A cliché thought, yes, but a true one at that.

Finch found that it wasn't best for him to dwell on subjects like this for long, for he found that the longer he looked at a problem, the questions he would discover would greatly outweigh the number of answers he would uncover.

Besides, his mental stability was already diminishing as it was.

At least he still had Pigpig, the only sense of normalcy in his life. Although the boy would rather submerge himself under the pressure of virtual warfare than doing anything social with him, Finch wouldn't have it any other way.

To him it was a comfortable silence of a friendship instead of annoyance. Him and Pigpig always had the roles of dominant and submissive, and by them giving each other the well needed space, they had an incredibly stable relation.

_As odd as that may sound. _

Besides, the two played by the 'rubber-band affect'. By isolating each other, they finally had something to discuss, instead of similar situations like that pitiful experience a few hours ago.

Well, it wasn't like they had always gotten along anyway.

Pigpig, like Spencer, had gotten over the childhood fascination of the public's images of holidays and celebrations, and decided to take interest in other areas of wonder. All which, Finch considered, were material and popularity by media related. Basically, they became sheep going into the herd of life.

Pathetic.

Despite his harsh thoughts on the publicity of the world, Finch was curious why he was the only one who seemed to see this materialized world for what it was, a conspiracy against humanity. Not that humanity wasn't fucked from the start, but now that it was so bluntly obvious he figured that at least one other person could open their eyes and see.

Well, there was Devil Lad.

Frowning, he threw his body back into the position he was so desperate to remove himself from moments before. The dull smell of fading rubber from the steering wheel was enough of a familiar comfort to stop the rise of nausea that suddenly threatened his stomach.

Apparently, emotional scars were harder to fix than physical ones.

This seemed to happen a lot lately. The sudden mood swings, the excessive bleeding, and the sour taste of bile rising in his throat. All that became an expected occurrence during the Halloween event.

His body was plotting against him.

After a few still moments used to ensure his stomach contents were kept down, he struggled to pull himself out of his pointless musings. Surely it was about the time to head home; he planned to leave something small for Moochie to eat whenever she returned from God knows where.

Just because he was a psychopath didn't mean he didn't _care_.

Even if it was just a bit.

God damn, he was musing again.

To snap himself out of his pitiful mood, he flung himself back into the sitting position and glared to the darkness of the outside world. Absentmindedly, he ran a hand through his hair, since it seemed to be plastered to his forehead. Halfway through that motion, however, something caught attention of his senses and soon he was completely alert before the threat was even seen.

Remaining completely still, he refused to move his locked gaze with the outside world. Now that he was attentive, he realized how still the night seemed to be, as if the slightest movement would break a trance that the world was under.

This was probably it, he thought darkly. This was the special toll of the evening.

Every year, Turgid Meadows was plagued with unfortunate occurrences; zombies, aliens, robots and prehistoric cave men against towering dinosaurs. It would be a shame, he thought with bitter amusement, if the fun would end as soon as he turned legal. Seeing countless of lives in peril always did seem to lift his mood.

This, however, felt different. Something new was coming, and despite the wariness that he had achieved as he matured into a young adult, he felt himself waiting in apprehension for the darkness to reveal what it held.

"It's cold."

He surprised himself, not realizing that he had spoken aloud. That soft, whispered statement seemed to have broken the trance of anticipation that held the night, and he took a sharp intake of breath he didn't recognize he was holding. Everything returned to its normal state; wind fluttering aimlessly and the soft vibration of the engine of the vehicle.

But what shocked his senses?

Finch was not one to be confused, yet this seemed to downright puzzle his mind. It was as if a haunting spectre of overwhelming emotion passed over the world, and then took its fearful aura with it as it left.

How bizarre…

Shaking off the disturbance, he reached to turn the key in the ignition, trying to ignore the overwhelming need to leave this area that was creeping up on him. He just felt disturbed.

The keyhole was gummy, resulting in Finch expressing too much force in jerking the key back and forth to fully turn. It was one of those things that he reminded himself to fix every day, but ultimately forgot about in the darkening hours.

When the cursed key finally did turn, Finch relaxed in the comforting whir of the engine, feeling the last of his disturbed nature flood away. He was turning paranoid, paranoid about all the pressures and consequences of finally aging.

Growling lowly, he shifted the car into drive and was about to floor it when a loud rapping noise hit against his window.

Although he would never admit it, he yelped.

Loudly.

Hand still on the gear shifter, he yanked it onto park. Over his rapidly pounding heart he could hear ecstatic laughter mocking him from outside the cab. Who the _fuck_ just pulled that on him? Peering outside the window almost instantly his eyes were met with hard yellow, and he felt himself groan and his anger flood away

Devil Lad, _duh_.

The red clad figure gave a lazy wave, although Finch noted with irritation that his hand was covering the lower half of that mask, meaning the bastard was grinning like a cat.

That was a dirty trick; he scowled, to… _surprise_ him after such a bizarre incident! But Devil Lad didn't seem to notice –or care- as he easily slid in the passenger side and lean back in the seat. Over the course of the years, Finch grew accustomed to guessing what facial expressions were under that mask and figured that he was smirking right now

But what kind of smirk was it?

"What's up, Finchie?"

Despite his pissy attitude, Finch smirked lightly and shook his head in annoyed amusement.

"Was that you just now?"

Splaying his hands out to Finch in mock innocence, D.L. cocked his head to the side like he was confused.

"What ever do you mean?"

"That aura of impending doom and hopelessness just now. It was pretty awesome."

Even after knowing Devil Lad for over ten years, Finch still had no idea where the male clad in red came from. It was considered taboo to ask in their childhood days, and even as they aged they just learned to accept that they would never understand the true mystery that was Devil Lad. Although the rest of them changed, Devil Lad still managed to stay the same; foggy and harsh like a strange dream, one that took hold of all five senses and demanded total attention.

"Heh!" He tapped a sharp cheek bone on the mask, as if flattered by the compliment. "Just visiting like I always do. I suppose you've never felt that before?"

Nodding, Finch studied him carefully. "That was a first. Is that what happens when you pop outta hell?"

A sharp, but clear laughter filled the cab, and Finch couldn't help but smile at the steering wheel while shaking his head. Devil Lad still thought it was all a joke, always brushing off their speculations of where he came from.

If he only knew that they weren't making these outlandish theories to amuse either or to tease, but because they had absolutely no idea where he could possibly be from. A person of Devil Lad's being certainly wasn't from around here, or anywhere else on Earth for that matter. He was just… truly unique in a sense that he couldn't be raised anywhere _civilized_.

"Oh yes," he spoke with mock astonishment. "You finally discovered my secret. Now what am I going to do? I have nothing else to shield myself with this amazing power of deception! "

"Oh fuck off!" Finch laughed, actually laughed. "And put your seatbelt on." He shifted into drive once again.

Sniggering, he strapped himself in, jabbing his forehead so the mask would go in place. "Going for a ride?"

"Sure, why the hell not?"

When the tires began to spin, he jerked the lever into four wheeled drive. The damn car still kept on spinning in place, and when Finch noticed dirt instead of snow spewing out behind them he finally pulled his foot of the petal.

"Reverse?" Devil Lad piped up, his voice sounding slightly anxious.

Yeah, Finch didn't want to get out and push this piece of crap out either. So taking notice to the request, he switched the gear and accelerated slowly. Still, they stayed spinning in place, and Finch felt his last nerve beginning to snap.

But, whatever was catching the car seemed to release its hold suddenly. All at once they felt motion and movement take control of the car as it lurched backwards under the force of the gas pedal, and Finch gripped the steering wheel in a vice grip as D.L. reached for the dash board.

In a swift, fluid motion they were propelled out of the field and towards the road. With a force that sent Finch and him into the dash, they flew over the ditch, the road and into the ditch on the other side. When they landed, the energy was so great that it snapped Finch out of his initial shock and he slammed the break to keep them from crashing into the trees.

As the car creaked and groaned as it settled, they were silent as they tried to get over the intense adrenaline rush they received from that scare. Out of the corner of his eye, Finch noticed D.L. hastily pull back his hood. He realized with annoyance that he could've at least seen what his hair looked like, but instead he completely missed his chance.

"Well," he stated dryly. "You got a lead foot there, Finchie."

Unable to hide his embarrassment, Finch slapped a hand to his flushed face and groaned. At least nothing was so severely damaged that it needed repairs, because he really didn't have the money to fix his only means of transportation.

Not to mention what it would do to his stress levels…

Shifting gears to drive, he cautiously pulled out onto the road and headed back towards town. Softly, he heard a 'good job, Finchie!' but chose to ignore it.

Just this once.


	3. Chapter 3

I am so incredibly sorry for such a long delay. One thing led to another and well…

However**! I am pleased to report that is story is literally completely written up, over a long expanse of time. Thus: if anyone is actually still reading this, please let me know and I'll continue to post this! **

Thank you for your patience!

"Left-"

A loud squeal was the only answer received, echoing harshly throughout the interior of the cab as metal scraped painfully on the concrete speeding under wheel.

"I said go left-"

The force of the illegal U-turn pushed aside the 'back seat driver'; whose face crashed into the passenger side window with a sharp jerk. A red streak was left on the dingy glass, reflecting like a bloody scar on corrupt city rushing by.

Huffing in annoyance, Devil Lab threw a sharp glare at Finch through the plastic of his stoic yellow eyes. Faintly, his fingers touched the now dented prosthetic forehead, noting bitterly that a white smudge bruised the perfection of red paint.

"Yo, Finchie." He rapped the dashboard sharply with his knuckles. "Pull over you psychopath, I think you gave me a concussion."

"Probably knocked some sense into you."

A smirk tugged at Finch's lips, feeling the deadpanned glare hurtling in his direction. Easing his foot off the gas, removing it then completely, the car was left to drift down the center of the crowded street. Despite the pervious whining statement, D.L. began laughing in restrained glee at the kids flinging themselves from the path of the speeding car.

Finch activated the windshield wipers as the abandoned candy began to obscure their vision.

Vaguely, the sound of the passenger window opening was mentally registered, although Finch's attention was sure as hell not on the road or the safety of its pedestrians. Just focusing on something not regarding their destination was beginning to seem like an inconvenience to him. Thus, he reached over to the glove box on the passenger side, digging around the insurance papers and other legal crap towards his automobile for a map.

"So, where is this place again?" He was beginning the tedious process of unfurling the map to find this elusive place D.L suggested; one hand idly tilting the steering wheel. Of course it was shrouded in such mystery that Finch had no choice to follow along much like a horse being led to water, and despite his stubbornness, he knew he would drink the abnormal obscurities dry even without his logical consent.

Flattening the flimsy paper of the dollar store map over the steering wheel, Finch snapped his fingers at Devil Lad to catch his attention. "Actually, where are we even?" The streets passing through the windows were unfamiliar, leaving a bitter taste of stupidity in his mental subconscious.

That alone should have enforced the demand for answers; least enabling Finch some valuable time to construct a plan B should anything go wary. A route home would be the most sensible choice; however, he was so enchanted by the promises of Devil Lad's adventure –ensnared in it, really- that only the brief memory of taking a sharp left at the local garage vaguely flitted through his troubled consciousness.

"D.L?" At the absence of the expected reply, Finch pressed his open palms onto the paper in exasperation. Always the delay with that illusive entity; whether it be the time to arrive at a location or the appropriate length of pause within a conversation, Devil Lad held the atmosphere of being privileged on a mythical level, unbound by mundane values.

If the universe was in debt to him, Finch idled vaguely; the loan must've been apocalyptic. And was there interest? If so, what?

Snatching the vertical edge of the paper between two fingers, Finch pulled the map away from his view of the road. A strange tugging at his gut forced him to pay attention to the behaviour of his driving, the gravitation of being guided by the law when faced with the responsibility of maturity.

Yet, as his gaze floated up to the road, his right sighted perspective was blocked by a red blot and the remains of chocolate treats that escaped the wrath of the windshield. This scarlet obscurity was none other than D.L, bobbing fists full of rescued candy as he whooped at the confused and distressed children that they drove past. Wild alarm stabbed at Finch's mind as it was registered that Devil Lad was, indeed, managing to hold a sitting position on top of the right half of the windshield.

Air forced through his lungs in a strained gasp, "what are you doing!?"

Compelled by an unacknowledged influence, Finch's foot slammed on the flimsy brake pedal. Within seconds, D.L was propelled forward by Finch's uncanny control of gravity, snapping the radio antenna clear off the hood and planting face first onto the concrete below.

An icy chill internally slithered up Finch's body as he starred - completely stunned – at the spot where Devil Lad's body disappeared over the rusted silver hood of his car. As his lungs began to constrict from the lack of air, his body regained consciousness as he immediately shifted the vehicle into park and fell out into the road.

The only movement around the accident was the worried murmurs of the gathered children and their on-looking parents, although that was barely recognized as Finch stumbled around to the front of the car. Hunched over, D.L had the back of his hand pressed tenderly to the side of his mask, posture frozen in the state of shock.

Through his state of panicked concern, Finch felt the odd warmth of self awkwardness as he approached the injured figure in front of him, dropping to his knees as he tried to assess how he would continue with this situation.

"Look at me."

His voice held that startling air of parental authority, the same he used to address Moochie in her hysterical distress over minor accidents when she was just a toddler. Was it an instinct to sound firm, to conceal the panic one's self felt, to keep the injured calm?

Apparently, the method proved its value, for D.L's head hesitantly turned to meet his gaze, head tilted slightly in what Finch was guessing to sooth the pain.

"What hurts?" At this new level, Finch noticed the darker splatter of red across the now tattered hoodie. His resolve to stay calm instantly receded. "Hey! Answer me!"

Letting out a strangled groan, D.L swatted his wrist with a shaky hand.

"…Not so loud."

Relief instantly broke through his panic, but it was ill-fated as Finch heard the raw softness in the reply, void of the familiar hearty sarcasm and overall humour.

He was actually hurt.

A few parents drifted over to the two, finally recognizing that this wasn't the stunt of intoxicated teenagers. One crouched down next to them, discussing the possibility of transporting D.L to the nearby hospital while another tried to coax him into taking off his mask to survey the seriousness of the injury.

As expected, D.L shied away from all of their attempted advances, reaching under the mask to presumably apply pressure to his bleeding nose.

"A tissue." He requested lightly. "I just need a tissue."

Quite a few tissues were presented to the injured youth, some crinkled from already obvious use, portraying delicate floral patterns within the quilts, and those that were made more for decoration in their gaudy plastic portrayal. Ultimately, D.L gratefully accepted the few plain ones offered from a child dressed as a pumpkin, who wisely carried those mini tissue packets on his person.

Promptly, the tissues were expertly manoeuvred under the prosthetic and disappeared from view. When he sharply coughed and breathed in seething, Finch took that as the end of the endeavor and his own tension swiftly deflated. The gathering adults also felt the seriousness of the unfortunate situation ebb away; one puffed themselves up impressively and took the universal lecturing stance.

"You shouldn't be so careless driving!" Their voice carrying around the crowded block, the mother gathered her collection of costumed children behind her as if to shield them from Finch's chaotic influence. "There are kids everywhere tonight!"

It was great restraint that led to Finch not rolling his eyes. While the public scolding was unnecessary after such a physical scare, he was forced to admit that it wasn't completely uncalled for. These were parents he was surrounded by, he executed far from lawful behaviour in front of this hoard of children and now he was to be made an example of.

"Driving that mad on Halloween could get someone killed!" Another one chimed in.

"Was actually hoping on it." From his right it was so quiet, but Finch knew he didn't imagine it. Wrenching himself from the judging glares of numerous, irate parents, he peered at D.L to find yellow plastic eyes starring him head on. His frame was trembling slightly under his red hoodie, with what Finch first assumed was physical strain, until he noticed the hand pressed harshly against the bottom of the mask.

The fucker was laughing.

"You know, just didn't hope it would've been me." He continued nonchalantly, groping behind him to grab the car's hood to haul himself to his feet. Finch followed, torn between irked and relieved. He chose to observe D.L wobble undecidedly; testing each foot to see where his balance actually was instead of blindly guessing. Once it was discovered, he noisily sighed and began to dig around in his front pocket, producing a handful of windshield candy.

"Here kid." Pacing over to the large pumpkin child, D.L dumped some of the candy into his annoyingly similar pumpkin pail. "Bless you child, for not carrying floral printed tissues." As he spoke, he made the sign of the cross on the orange forehead with a large chocolate bar before dropping it in as well.

Since the event of near carnage was obviously at an end, much of the crowd had dispersed back into the festive door ringing of Halloween; leaving much thought out room for Finch's car to leave without any future bloodshed. D.L. was already sinking into the hard passenger seat gratefully, reaching tenderly under his mask. Finch gave one last glance around before joining him in the cab, rolling up both windows with exaggerated effort.

"…Did that by any chance knock some sense into you?"

"You know what? I actually think it did. Here..." Once again he fiddled around in his front pocket, shaking some more windshield candy at Finch. "C'mon, nothing like stolen candy to look past previous idiocy and never speak of it again."

"Does windshield candy have that much political power?" Smirking, Finch guided D.L's hand over to the one empty cup holder, forcing it to release the candy.

"Anything can have enough power if you believe it does." He spoke with such certainty that Finch rolled his eyes. "Like a box of dollar store candy has the power of 'I love you forever let's change our relationship status on line' on junior high Valentine's Day, or a bunch of flowers in that awful shiny plastic wrapping is 'I'm so sorry for taking the neighbour's wife from behind over our family couch and you walked in, can we still be married?'"

Finch quite suddenly felt uneasy. "Had experience in that department of emotional abuse?"

"In which situation? The first or second -"

A sharp knocking on the window startled both of them; Finch was clutching the steering wheel with enough force to crack the cheap plastic cover.

It was pumpkin kid.

"Oh for-" D.L swore, rolling down the window harshly. "What?"

Grinning, the kid waved his closed fist at him until D.L reluctantly gave him his opened palm. Something small was dropped into it, Finch couldn't see from this angle, but from D.L's suddenly stiffened posture it couldn't have been something particularly delicate.

"Dude, what the fuck is-"

"You forgot it last night!" The kid accused with such innocent ferocity that the older was shocked into silence. "Last night, I was told you'd come and get it, but you didn't, I didn't get paid. Mom said I would be, but you didn't. So she said tonight you would, so I would just leave it at home. But, I figured I'd find you on the streets before you got to my house. And I did!" Pumpkin child appeared extremely pleased with his accomplishment; he nodded once and waddled back to a group of children huddled together peering into their bags and pails. Finch rolled up the window.

"What was that about?"

He received only silence from the opposite side of the cab, then eventually an aggravated sigh. "Just take it." Finch opened his hand and took the tiny object from D.L, who promptly curled away from the offensive item and chose to peer out the window.

It was incredibly light, almost weightless, Finch had to force his concentration on it lest he accidently drop and lose it to the filthy abyss of his car's interior. Once white, it was beginning to brown possibly due to prolonged exposure; there was a bit of darkening flesh at the bottom, tiny strings of dried of roots and spongy blood.

Carefully, his fingers held the baby tooth up to the light of the cab. While impressively valued in sentimental memories and the starting loss of childhood innocence, it was visibly worthless to anyone but the child it belonged to.

"Creepy."

D.L gave an exaggerated shudder in response. "Gross, man."

"Do you regularly sneak children's rooms at night and steal their teeth?"

"Only on Tuesdays…" The effort to force humor was evident in his tone, so Finch tossed insulting tooth into his back seat. There were worse things crawling around back there; decaying fast food, mold expanding across the bottom seat fabric, unopened boy band CDs Moochie insisted on giving him.

"Ew?"

"It's not like it will take up a lot of room."

Although Finch continued driving in the same direction, the overall peculiarity of that situation lingered eerily over them. D.L was busying himself with the map, acting like he was doing something to trick his senses into normalcy.

Finch was no stranger to various degrees of gore and inhuman unusualness, rather a fond neighbour or yearly vacationer, and yet his neck prickled warningly as he recounted the event repeatedly. Children were arguably the most horrific forces on the planet Earth, Moochie being the lead alpha example for many consecutive years. The aspect of giving teeth to a stranger though, there was something incredibly off setting about it, especially when it was completely at random like that.

"I knew it." Finch blurted out.

"You must keep your identity a secret because you are really the tooth fairy, and you stalk the streets on Halloween to ensure kids get cavities to receive more teeth for your sickening throne made of teeth and rotten gums."

"Well shit." D.L near giggled. "I'll have to hand in my letter of resignation to Mother Goose after this. You job-ruining dick."


End file.
